


Not My Job

by Zany_the_Nerd



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Family, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Daryl Dixon, Pre-Apocalypse, Sick Daryl, Vomiting, Young Merle Dixon, big brother merle, merle's foul mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-05 23:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11588724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zany_the_Nerd/pseuds/Zany_the_Nerd
Summary: Taking care of a puking four-year-old shouldn't be his job, but somehow it is. Merle Dixon returns home late one night to find his little brother has fallen ill.





	1. A Dirty Cup of Water

“You sure you don’ want us to bring you to yer driveway, Merle?” the driver asked as the fifteen-year-old slid out of the beat-up Ford truck’s passenger’s seat.  


Merle smirked at his friend, if that’s what you wanted to call someone you used to get alcohol. “Told ya once already, Davey boy, I wanna walk the rest of the way. Or are ya expectin’ to be escortin’ me to my front door an’ get a goodnight kiss?”  


The rest of the group that had jammed themselves into the bed of the truck erupted into a laughing fit.  


“Git the fuck outta here, Dixon,” Dave responded, giving him the finger.  


Merle slammed the door shut and banged on its rusty side twice before the truck began the process of turning around. The rest of the group hollered their goodbyes at him as they drove away, leaving him alone under a flickering street lamp in the dead of the night. For a moment, Merle just stood there listening as the sounds of the truck’s loud engine and its obnoxious occupants faded away into the distance.  


A steady breeze blew against him, causing a chill to run down his spine. Grumbling, Merle reached into his denim jacket’s pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. It was almost empty; he’d have to make a run to the store soon to swipe some more.  


He pulled out a cheap lighter and lit the butt as his eyes traveled up the inclined road. The shitty shack he lived in sat at the top of the hill. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled and examined the house through the smoky haze. It was a small, shotgun-styled piece of junk with a crooked roof and dead flowerbed to accent it. It may not have been the prettiest to look at, but it fulfilled its purpose of keeping the heat out during the summer and cold out during the winter. The best part about the house though was what lay behind it. It was backed by a forest that stretched out for miles and often served as an escape for both him and his little brother from their good-for-nothing father.  


Thinking about his old man made Merle’s lips curl in disgust. He hoped the bastard was asleep. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with his Pa right now, hence why he had Dave drop him off a few blocks away from the house. No way Dave’s crew in that noisy Ford wouldn’t wake the dick up.  


Merle just wanted to collapse on his bed and sleep. He hadn’t drunk enough tonight to get blitzed— hell, he barely felt buzzed at all, but he was exhausted. His morning had been spent at Tony Jones’ Deli where he’d worked cleaning tables and dishes. Before his shift had technically ended, he had gone home, made himself and Daryl a late afternoon lunch of sandwiches, watched some shitty program on TV, and gotten in a fight with his old man. The argument started off being about Merle using the last of the stale bread, escalated into Merle being “a useless, freeloading sonofabitch,” and ended with Merle getting smacked upside the head. Daryl had starred wide-eyed behind a chair the whole time. When he finally stormed out of the house, his little brother had followed. Out on the front steps, Daryl had asked him where he was going to which Merle replied with a rough, “Anywhere but here” and left. The rest of the night he’d spent behind a local drug store, eating burgers and drinking some piss-poor excuse for liquor with Davey’s crew.  


As he began heading towards the house, his mind wondered back to Daryl. Hopefully the kid had eaten some form of dinner because he sure as shit didn’t eat much of a lunch having only nibbled on parts of his sandwich which Merle had gladly finished off for him.  


He let out another puff of smoke. Maybe he should have brought something back for the little runt to eat in case he was lying awake from hunger pangs. Christ knew the only thing left in the kitchen cabinets after their meager lunch were some spiders and a half a bottle of rum. Then again, it was almost two in the morning. It was possible his little brother had already fallen asleep. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel some stupid guilt over Daryl’s likely lack of dinner.  


Walking up the steps to the front door, Merle put out his cigarette on the cracked, yellow siding and unlocked the house. As quietly as possible, the young teen closed the door behind him and crept further into the dark living room. The only source of light trickled from under the bathroom door. Not really thinking much on it, Merle headed for his and Daryl’s shared room.  


Yawning, he pushed the door open and deposited his jacket on the floor. He felt his way along the room’s walls until he reached his bed. Slipping out of his torn-up shirt and kicking off his muddy boots, Merle flopped on top of the squeaky mattress and let out a breath of air. His blue eyes squinted over to the other bed in the room. It was empty. Daryl must be in the shitter.  


Merle closed his eyes. He was just about to get comfortable when he heard it. A small choking sound followed by a light sob. Eyes shooting back open, Merle sat up and listened harder. It was coming from the bathroom. He let out a curse and stormed off towards the source of the noise.  


Not even bothering to knock, Merle opened the bathroom door and winced as the bright lights assaulted his eyes. His gaze fell onto his four-year-old brother who was currently on the floor, slumped against the toilet. Nose wrinkled, Merle immediately recognized the rancid smell. Vomit clung to Daryl’s chin and was splattered in a little puddle on the floor where the boy hadn’t quite made it in time to the porcelain throne.  


Daryl looked up at him with watery eyes. His face was sweaty and pale; he wore a miserable expression. Merle could sympathize. Why just three days ago he had been in the same position after a really nasty hangover.  


“Ya look like shit, baby brother.”  


Daryl looked like he wanted to answer, but instead ducked his head back into the toilet and let out a God-awful retching sound. Merle quickly closed the door so the noise wouldn’t wake up their old man.  


“Can’t ya throw up a little quieter?” Merle ground out feeling incredibly irritable.  


Daryl’s face reemerged from the bowl where he quickly laid his head down on the filthy toilet seat. “Don’ feel good…” he mumbled.  


“What’dya want me to do about it?” Daryl just stared at him with a quivering lip. “Well?” Still no response. Merle shrugged and turned to leave.  


“Don’ go!” Daryl panicked. Merle stopped, hand hovering inches away from the doorknob, and looked back over his shoulder.  


With tired eyes and hand partially outstretched, Daryl repeated, “Don’ go.” His small form started to shake as shuddering sob escaped him.  


Jesus Christ, was he seriously crying?  


“Nu-huh. You stop that sissy shit!” Merle quietly snapped, coming to a stand in front of the boy, “Dixon men don’t cry! You want Pa to hear ya an’ come in here and beat yer ass?” Daryl shook his head, but continued bawling. Merle ran a hand through his hair; he just wanted to go to sleep, not deal with this fuckery! “Geez yer actin’ like a baby! Everyone gets sick, man up.”  


But it seemed like his words were falling on deaf ears. Daryl was never usually this whiny. Where he would normally get mad at him and either storm off or retaliate, he just sat there looking all pathetic and let the waterworks continue.  


Merle considered ignoring the begging and just going to bed anyway, but before he could do anything Daryl had flung himself back into the toilet and dry-heaved. Catching his breath, his little brother looked back up at him with such a look of desperation in his baby blues that Merle knew he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. He dragged a hand down his face and let out a frustrated sigh.  


“God fucking dammit!” Grabbing the towel on the sink, Merle tossed it at his brother, “Wipe yer face off an’ clean that puddle off the floor. I ain’t gonna be the one that slips in yer puke.”  


Daryl reached for where the rag had landed and with shaky hands began to clean up. It was then Merle saw the throw up that ran down the front of the kid’s shirt.  


Merle felt his anger flare up, but it wasn’t at his brother. No, it was at the situation. This wasn’t his job; he wasn’t some damned babysitter and he sure as hell wasn’t a parent. Why had his retarded folks even had kids? Hadn’t they heard about the pill before? He was fifteen for Christ sakes! He shouldn’t have to worry about if his brother had eaten that day or having to stay up with him as he puked his brains out! Nu-huh! He should be in bed right now thinking about wet pussies or how much more money he’s got to save to get that used motorcycle he’d been eyeing.  


An audible sigh pulled Merle from his thoughts. Daryl had finished wiping up the last of the upchucked mess and was currently leaning back against the toilet fighting to hold back tears.  
Merle’s shoulders slumped forward slightly. Aw what the hell. No use in being a bitch and complaining about the shit hand they had been dealt. His ma was a year dead and his old man couldn’t give two shits less about anything besides booze. It was just how things were.  


Kneeling in front of Daryl, Merle grabbed the bottom of his bro’s shirt.  


“Up,” he commanded and the child raised his arms in the air. He lifted the t-shirt over Daryl’s head before depositing it in the pile of laundry in the corner.  


“Think you’re done saying hello to yer food?” At Daryl’s nod he continued, “Then come on. Let’s get back to the room.”  


Daryl carefully stood up, looking as unsteady as a newborn fawn.  


“What’re ya waitin’ for? Let’s go,” Merle opened the door and motioned for Daryl to go.  


The boy took one weak step forward and Merle instantly knew the runt was going to end up on his face before he reached the bed.  


“Alrighty then, Darylina. Have it your way.” Bending down, he picked Daryl up under his arms and balanced him on his hip, “Ya happy now, princess?”  


Daryl didn’t respond. Instead, he rested his head against Merle’s shoulder. Merle raised a brow at the warmth of his brother’s face. He wasn’t on fire, but he was certainly a few degrees hotter than normal.  


The hell was he supposed to do? He had vague memories of when he was real little and had gotten sick. Ma had been in one of those rare moods where she would actually play the mothering role. Merle recalled her cool hand being placed against his hot face and her constant chiding of “drink more, sweetie, you need to drink more.” But besides that one blurred memory, all other recollections he had of being ill involved him fending for himself. He didn’t have anyone to baby him like Daryl did.  


Grabbing the bathroom’s trashcan, Merle hauled both it and his brother back to their room making sure to switch off the bathroom light with his elbow. The house may be dark, but with their bedroom literally steps away from the shitter, Merle had no concerns about running into any walls. Walking right up to Daryl’s bed, and with far more care than he would ever admit, he placed his sick brother on the springy mattress and set the trashcan down close by. Daryl immediately flopped back against his pillow.  


“Look, Mer…” Daryl sniffled in a quiet voice, “We both don’t got shirts on.”  


Merle had mixed feelings about the way his stupid brother hero worshiped him. Ever since he had turned two, Daryl had developed this annoying habit of constantly trying to copy the way he walked, talked, cursed, ate- everything he damn well did! Some days he was charmed by it, but other days it pissed him the fuck off.  


“Quit being a faggot,” he smirked, moving back towards the hall.  


“W-where’re ya goin’?” Daryl asked.  


“Gotta get some water back in ya ‘fore you dry up like a desert well.”  


Without another word, he continued out their room and straight to the kitchen. His socked feet barely made a sound as he crept across the carpeted floor. Squinting through the dark (no use in tempting fate by turning on a light), Merle briefly eyed the shut door that led to his Pa’s bedroom. For everyone’s sake, he hoped it stayed closed.  


The sink was filled with days’ worth of unwashed dishes. He blindly grabbed a dirty cup and filled it with water from the faucet. Nodding to himself, he turned and quickly headed back towards their room.  


Merle had almost made it back inside the room when he misjudged his steps. In a split second, there was a resounding crack immediately followed by a sharp pain in his right foot. He’d stubbed his toes against the damned doorframe.  


“Sonofabitch, Jesus Christ!” he cursed though clenched teeth.  


“Ya ‘kay, Mer?” Daryl whispered.  


“Turn on the fuckin’ lamp, Daryl,” Merle hissed.  


There was the sound shuffling and a click before the second-hand lamp dully illuminated the area. Daryl sat at the edge of his bed clutching at that scruffy looking stuffed rabbit he was fond of. The thing was a little more than beat up having been one of the only items from their old home to survive the fire. It’s once white fur was now a dirtied gray and there was a piece of duct tape across its chest that Merle had put there to cover a hole that had formed a few months back. Honestly, Daryl was getting a little too old to have the thing. One day he would just have to make it disappear.  


Ignoring his throbbing toe, Merle shut the door and thrusted the glass of water at his brother, “Drink it.”  


Daryl accepted the glass and brought the cup to his lips. He almost immediately pulled a face, “Taste funny.”  


“Yeah, well, ain’t sure what was in it before,” he said taking a seat on his own bed.  


Daryl just nodded. They were both used to grabbing a dirty cup sometimes. Since ma died, the dishes weren’t something that were cleaned often.  


Merle watched amused as the boy drank from the glass with one hand and used the other to take the rabbit’s ear and rub it up and down on his cheek.  


“Why ya do that?” he finally asked.  


“What?” Daryl said, glassy eyes looking up from his feet.  


“That weird rubbin’ thing.”  


Daryl shrugged.  


“Come on, lil’ brother, you can tell ol’ Merle.” The boy mumbled an inaudible response, “What was that?”  


“Feels good.”  


“Oh, it feels good,” Merle repeated sarcastically, “You know what feels even better? A nice woman rubbin’ ya up and down. Specially one with curves.” He let out a low whistle, “Yeah…there ain’t nothin’ like it.”  


Silence fell between the two after that which was completely fine by Merle. It gave him time to recline against the wall and rest his eyes. His ears focused on the sound of the wind whipping through the tall pine trees outside their window.  


It was getting to be fall. Maybe tomorrow he’d ditch work and go hunting. Bag a nice deer or turkey. Daryl probably won’t be up for going, being sick, which was fine by Merle. That meant there would be no one to slow him down or scare off the game with clumsy footsteps. Soon he’d have to start teaching Daryl about hunting. Currently, he’d been teaching him about tracking and, he had to admit, the kid was a natural at it. But hunting…he wasn’t so sure that would come as easy to the youngest Dixon. Daryl was much softer than he was. Probably would start crying if he shot something.  


“Mer—” Daryl’s panicked voice snapped him out of his dozing. Merle hadn’t even realized he’d sprung into action until he’d finished shoving the trashcan into his little brother’s arms. The kid immediately let out a belching sound which was followed by a wet splattering. The older Dixon winced. There went all that water.  


“And after all the trouble I went through to get you that water,” he joked.  


Daryl let out a whimper, “When’ll it s-stop?”  


“You went and caught yerself a bug. It’ll stop once its good an’ ready to.”  


Daryl blanched and his grip on the can tightened, “There’s a bug inside o’ me?”  


Merle looked at the sheer horror on the other’s face before he let out a laugh, “Don’ start pissin’ yer pants. That’s just what folks call it when ya get sick.”  


Daryl just stared at him for a second longer before spilling his guts some more.

**A/N:I adore the Dixon brother's complicated relationship! I find their life before the apocalypse intriguing and wish more people wrote about it. Anyway, there's one chapter left! Please, let me know what you think! ******


	2. Hallucinations and Constellations

Eventually, Daryl had stopped throwing up long enough to fall asleep. Thank the Lord. Merle didn't even want to guess what time it was. Reaching over to turn off the lamp, he spared one final look at his baby brother. The boy was laying on his side with his back facing towards him. A light sucking sound gave away that he had his thumb in his mouth; another habit he'd have to break his brother of, but for now he was too tired to care. Switching off the light, Merle buried himself into his pillow with the intent on sleeping away however many hours the night he had left.

If only life were that kind to him.

He's not sure how long he'd been asleep when he was awoken by his little brother's terrified whimper. Merle sighed; he was probably having a nightmare. Not an uncommon occurrence in their house. Rolling onto his side, he glanced over too see Daryl not laying down like he'd expected, but sitting straight up and shaking.

Merle was a firm believer in gut instinct. Whenever his gut started sending up red flags, he knew to trust it. And right now, it was waving one as massive as the American flags that flew over all the local car dealerships! In an instant, he was alert and sitting up.

"What? What's wrong?"

"T-There!" Daryl pointed towards the corner, voice filled with horror.

Merle tried to see where Daryl pointed, but it was too dark! Blindly, he felt for the lamp and almost knocked it over before his fingers found the chain and yanked it. The yellow glow illuminated the room and Merle looked around frantically, ready to kick ass, only to see-

—nothing…absolutely nothing.

And just after he'd given his gut such high praise. Figures.

"Tch, bonehead, you musta had a nightmare. There ain't nothin' in here." Merle said, rubbing one of his eyes with the palm of his hand. Leave it to Daryl to scare the shit out of him over nothing. If he weren't sick already, he'd kick his ass.

Merle opened his mouth to tell Daryl to go back to sleep, but the words never left because Daryl did not look okay, not anywhere near it! He was clutching the damn rabbit like it was the only thing keeping him alive and had his wide eyes fixed on the corner like something was about to jump out of it.

"Mer—" his breaths were short and rapid as he pressed himself further back against the bed's headboard, "Mer, it's there—its lookin' at me!"

Merle felt his heart start to race again. Maybe his gut wasn't so wrong after all. Tears fell down Daryl's face and his skin was glistening with sticky sweat.

Throwing off the covers, Merle got up and came to a stand next to his brother's bed.

"What's there?" Merle asked, glancing at the empty corner before turning his attention back to the sobbing mess of a child.

"M-monster," Daryl stuttered, skin flushed red.

Merle's face twisted in confusion. Was the boy going schizo, because clearly his brother was seeing something he couldn't.

"The only monster in here is you keepin' me from that gettin' my beauty sleep," he halfheartedly joked, trying to calm both Daryl and his own rapid heartbeat. It didn't work.

Daryl flinched, "He's starin' right at me…I—I don't want him here."

Damn, his brother was sweating like a whore in church.

Without saying another word, he reached out and placed a hand on his brother's forehead. Boy was burning up like a small furnace! Suddenly, Daryl let out a panicked cry and flung himself at Merle, gripping painfully at his waist and sobbing loudly.

"Make it go 'way! Make it go 'way!" Daryl screeched.

"Shhh!" Merle hushed, arms pressing Daryl further into his chest, more to stifle his brother's voice than out of comfort. "Yer gonna wake up, Pa!"

If his little brother heard him, he didn't acknowledge it and instead started clawing at him, frantically wishing to be held.

Merle obliged because what the hell else was he supposed to do with a hysterical kid? Lifting the scrawny boy into his arms as his heart pounded against his chest, he unconsciously started stroking Daryl's back.

"What's the monster doin'," he asked, mind racing for what he should do.

"Openin' its mouth an' s-squirrels is commin' out! P-Please make em' go 'way, please! It's gon' kill us!"

What…the…fuck.

This was starting to get really freaky. Should he try to force more water down his throat? Take him to the hospital? He'd have to go into his Pa's room to snatch the truck keys and haul ass before the old fart tried to stop him, but he'd do it if he had too.

He knew really high fevers were a bad thing, but their sole thermometer had been broken a couple weeks ago. He'd been digging in the medicine cabinet for some of that good, prescription opium his Pa had gotten for his bad back and accidently knocked it off the shelf. Oh well, whatever, he didn't need some stupid glass stick to tell him Daryl had a raging fever which was probably making him see things! He didn't need no doctor either! Merle knew what he had to do: get that fever down. And if he couldn't do that…then maybe he'd bring Daryl to them degree-waving folks in scrubs.

"Let's go outside, baby brother. Bet we can spot us some constellations," Merle said, grabbing his jacket off the floor.

As he worked his way to the front door, Merle watched as Daryl's head swiveled in all directions, his face was twisted in fear and disgust. Merle didn't know what he was seeing, but knew it wasn't rainbows and butterflies. Must be like having a bad acid trip.

Merle placed a hand on the back of Daryl's head and carefully eased him against the crook of his neck as he whispered, "I got you, baby brother. Just close them eyes."

Merle stepped outside, immediately feeling the temperature difference. The cool air licked at his exposed back; a chill ran down his spine. His tired, heavy eyes shifted to Daryl who was shivering against him. He really hoped the colder air would help drop his temperature a few degrees.

"Where w-we goin'?" Daryl asked, voice muffled by the stuffed rabbit he still had clutched up to his face.

"Back of the truck." Merle answered as he walked down the steps towards his Pa's small pick-up. Instead of getting in the back, however, he went around to the passenger's seat. Opening the door, he began to dig through a small crate of random junk that lay on the floorboard. The bottom of the box had a crappily folded blanket which Merle hazardously pulled out, not caring how it jostled the items on top of it. The cover was scratchy, but thick and would definitely due its job of keep the brothers warm if they needed it. With that, he kicked the door shut and climbed into the bed of the truck.

Dropping the blanket next to him, Merle knelt down on the floor. Using his jacket as a pillow, he laid against it and readjusted Daryl so he was reclined against his chest, face staring up at the sky. He rested his chin on top of his little brother's damp hair. This was not the comfiest place he'd ever slept, but it could be worse. He'd probably be a lot colder if it weren't for the sheer amount of heat Daryl's body was putting off.

"We gon' use that?" Daryl asked, turning to look at the discarded blanket, "It's got spiders on it."

It didn't. Well at least not any big enough for either of the brothers to spot. Kid was still hallucinating.

"Don' worry 'bout that, I wanna show you some stuff," he said, raising a hand to point at the sky, "'member where I told you the Big Dipper was?"

Daryl was still staring at the blanket.

Merle gave the boy a shake, "Hey! Eyes on the sky!"

"But there's—"

"I don't care if Gerald Ford is standin' there with the entire Goddamn army! Look up at the fuckin' sky!"

His brother hesitantly did. Good. Hopefully he wouldn't see so many freaky things now.

"As I was sayin', the Big Dipper actually ain't no constellation. It's a part of one called The Big Bear."

Daryl wiped his wet eyes on the rabbit's face, "Big Bear?"

"Watch." Merle slowly traced the outline of it with his finger, "See it?"

"Don't look like no bear."

"Yeah, well, some assholes way back when said it did."

"Mer," Daryl whispered, "I'm cold."

"Well I ain't so shut up and keep listenin'!"

That was a lie. He was freezing his balls off, but Daryl was still too warm. A few more minutes of night air should do the trick though. So, Merle kept talking to fill the time. He pointed out every constellation that came to mind, the ones his crummy father had taught him and others that he'd read in books. Who knew if Daryl was even listening to what he was saying—all that mattered was that it kept Merle awake long enough to insure his little brother was going to be okay.

Time passed by and Merle eventually found himself with nothing more to say. Instead, he stared up at the sky through half-lidded eyes and lightly shivered against the cold. He was pretty sure he had dozed off once already. Daryl must have fallen asleep at some point if the light snoring was anything to go by. This felt like one of the longest nights ever. Stifling a yawn, he placed a heavy hand against Daryl's forehead. It was still warm, but considerably cooler.

Now he should probably take his little brother back inside, but…fuck it. This was one of the longest nights and his limbs felt like lead. Screw anyone who thought he would get up and move one more time! With sluggish movements, Merle grabbed the blanket next to him and spread it over both himself and his brother, a task that proved somewhat difficult as he tried not to jostle Daryl too much. The last thing he wanted to do right now was wake him up.

"Mer?" Daryl whispered, his voice heavy with sleep.

Son of a bitch.

"What?" he growled.

"Thanks."

Merle blinked and cast his gaze down at the top of Daryl's head. He knew his brother was thanking him for more than just the damn blanket. It was for the whole night. He did more than either of their parents had ever done, which wasn't that hard of a thing to accomplish. Merle was all Daryl had and Daryl was all Merle had.

"Don't forget, baby brother," Merle said, lightly tightening his hold on Daryl, "Ain't no one gonna take care of you like me. Not now, not ever."

Daryl's head moved softly against him, but whether it was a nod or simply nuzzling closer in sleep, he couldn't tell. Exhaling, Merle closed his eyes and almost instantly drifted off to sleep, feeling surprisingly content.

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! Please let me know what you think so I know whether to write and share more stories about the Dixon brothers! Thanks for reading! :)**


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